sometimes at night i think i hear your voice. usually it's a whisper, a passing breeze, a moment that fills my mind. i turn towards the window, watch the shuddering moonlight twist its way through the trees, wonder if i could find you there in the shadows and nestle your head on the pillows beside my own. i'd like to see you in the cleanstrange light of our sweetclear nights, the soft focus silence of those buried in cloud. i'd like to press myself to you when i wake from a sleepshattered dream, when i wake into the grey light of midmorning sleepy sundays, would like to wake in the middle of the night to wrestle the blanket away from your sleeping self, rolled tight and snoring soundly. i forget sometimes that my bed is empty, sometimes think that i hear your voice.